


To The Place Where Sunflowers Bloom

by myhopeandangel



Category: NCT (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Historical, Arranged Marriage, Explicit Sexual Content, Infidelity, Light Angst, M/M, Nobility, but i promise you a happy ending
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-13
Updated: 2020-06-13
Packaged: 2021-03-03 20:41:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,124
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24691702
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/myhopeandangel/pseuds/myhopeandangel
Summary: “Jaemin.”Jaemin glances up then.“I’m getting married.”He drops his book, the loud thud against the ground resonating as he repeats each wretched word in his head.Jeno is getting married.And it isn’t to him.
Relationships: Lee Jeno/Na Jaemin
Comments: 10
Kudos: 245





	To The Place Where Sunflowers Bloom

**Author's Note:**

> took a while but here it is :) 
> 
> dedicated to the beautiful ppl who read the original part in my drabble collection
> 
> i tried my best to follow the setting from the period it's somewhat based on but i took a few liberties here and there haha
> 
> //also available in Russian here: https://ficbook.net/readfic/10052703

There’s a soft knock to Jaemin’s room. 

Without so much as an invitation to enter, the door opens anyway, bringing with it a loosely-clad Jeno, dressed in nothing but his nightwear as he closes the door behind him. If Jaemin didn’t notice the nervous fiddling of his clothes or the way Jeno’s eyes seem to skitter around the room, he might have thought Jeno was seducing him.

But he wouldn’t. Jaemin smiles wryly. Jeno wouldn’t because he’s always cautious. Always afraid.

Afraid of society finding out.

It would be a scandal, the last nail in the coffin for the Lee family’s name, and by extension of association, Jaemin’s family would be dragged through the mud with them as well.

“Jaemin.” Jeno’s voice is soft, almost hesitant. 

Jaemin glances up at his name, meeting eyes with an awkwardly shifting Jeno. He has a hand on the arm of the seat Jaemin is sitting on, leaning in just enough to break into Jaemin’s personal space, yet too far away for Jaemin to gauge his intentions. 

Jeno parts his lips, and Jaemin’s eyes flicker down to it.

It’s too soft the first time around. Or perhaps, his ears were playing tricks on him. 

Because there’s no way it could be true.

He blinks up at Jeno blankly, and Jeno takes a deep breath.

“I’m getting married, Jaemin.”

The book Jaemin was barely reading drops to the floor with a loud thud, pages surely crumpled in the process. But it’s hardly a worry to him right now. The more Jaemin repeats those wretched words in his head, the more this garble of emotions pool below his chest, churning just above his stomach. 

Jaemin tightens his grip on the armchair, fingertips blanching so white it hurts.

Jeno is getting married.

And it isn’t to him.

Jaemin schools his expression, his eyes staring straight at Jeno even as his voice betrays him with the slightest of wobbles. 

“Congratulations,” he manages to croak out. But it’s too raw, too rough. The words aren’t his, and they both know it. 

Jeno shifts his position until he’s left standing in front of Jaemin, one knee leaning on the soft velvet of the seat, settling right between Jaemin. It’s too intimate. Too dangerous for them both. It’s a fine line that they thread, between this accursed reputation and desire.

When Jeno breathes, Jaemin can see the way his shoulders expand and contract, how his chest rises and falls rhythmically. 

There are tears prickling at his eyes when he finally locks gazes with Jeno.

“Is that all you have to say?” Jeno inquires softly. His eyes are no longer downcast or away, they meet Jaemin with an emotion that they both know all too well.

Before Jaemin could breathe a word, Jeno shucks his nightwear off, bare back facing the yellow glow of the fireplace. His eyes are trained on Jaemin, an unwavering gaze that Jaemin misses so dearly.

When he closes his eyes, Jaemin feels the wet trails that his tears leave behind, trickling down his chin as Jeno’s warm hands cup his face tenderly. Everything feels too warm, too stuffy. 

Too dangerous.

_ Play with fire and you might get burned. _

Jaemin doesn’t know how it happens, but he finds his arms on Jeno’s naked back, fingernails digging in so hard he’s certain it will leave crescent-shaped welts behind. The space between them closes until all Jaemin can feel is Jeno’s hot breath against his face and the heat emitting from their bodies.

Jeno kisses him first, pressing their lips together so desperately Jaemin is thrown back to the first time they did, hidden behind the horse stable as their maids called for them. The grip Jeno has on him feels the same, tight and restless as he begins opening his mouth in invitation. It’s all wet and heat, messy yet perfect. The way their lips mould together is unlike any other.

Nothing will ever surpass Jeno.

_ Nothing. _

When Jeno pulls away to breathe, Jaemin moves one hand down his back, drawing it all the way to the base where he pulls Jeno so that he no longer leans awkwardly but sits. 

This is how things should be, Jaemin with Jeno, and Jeno with Jaemin, but matters of the heart are complicated.

Society will never accept them.

Jeno’s lashes flutter along his cheeks as he plays with the loose collar of Jaemin’s shirt, fingers moving deftly along the line of buttons until it all comes undone, hanging open loosely by the sides. 

Jaemin reaches for those dear hands, worn and calloused from the hard labour he’s been put through since the fall of the Lee family from high society. Each knuckle is given a kiss, as slow and sweet as he can give without choking up from all the emotions that churn in his chest. 

When Jaemin glances up at Jeno, he finds his face glistening with fresh tears. He hates this. He hates this so much.

Wordlessly, Jeno pulls Jaemin’s night blouse off, pressing soft kisses along his neck until all Jaemin can hear is their harsh breathing mingling between them, unable to part. 

When Jaemin finally has the courage to ask, he touches one palm to Jeno’s chest, feeling the thump of his heartbeat against his hand.

“Who?”

Jeno mirrors him, dragging his hand down to Jaemin’s chest. His heart beats wildly despite his composure. But Jeno is the same as well.

They are two halves of a whole.

Yet no one will ever know.

“A daughter from a noble family. An arranged marriage.”

There’s no love in his words, only hurt and sorrow when Jaemin hears it over the crackle of flames in the background.

Even if Jeno doesn’t say it, Jaemin knows the reason. The Lees need money to climb back into society. And though Jaemin has more than enough to spare, they will always be too prideful to ask for it.

Society is a game of chess, in which the children are the pawns and wealth is the ultimate king.

Jeno is but another pawn, his fate in this life predetermined in this cruel match.

The warm glow of the fireplace casts shadows over Jeno’s features, softening many of his edges that have roughened with time. In this light, he almost looks like a young boy again.

But the darkness accentuates everything else, and in this state, Jaemin sees the frightened child in him, clasping onto Jaemin desperately as if he’ll disappear if he doesn’t do so.

Jeno leans in until they’re chest to chest, heart to heart. The words ghost over his ears. A phantom from his most feverish of dreams.

“I love you.”

And Jaemin loves him.

But it was never meant to be.

  
  
  


Their wedding is a modest affair, much to the visible displeasure of the guests. Many of them dressed to the nines, seemingly out of place in the quiet church. Jaemin sits at the back, observing in silence. The  _ bride’s  _ family is a league above Jeno, pompous and arrogant even in their seating. Even with the money they boast, the wedding remains a dull affair, meant to put Jeno in his place. But Jeno is calm, always the filial child and ever the gentleman. 

Jaemin’s head throbs with the coming of a migraine. He should never have come, but what good is a  _ best friend _ who leaves his other half to fend for himself. 

As the ceremony proceeds, a grumble comes from his left. Jaemin knows why the wedding isn’t as lavish or exuberant as it should be.

“The wedding is a sham.”

And so do the guests.

The women next to him gossip voraciously, making quick glances over to Jeno and his soon-to-be  _ wife _ . 

“All marriages are shams, dear. Some just more than others.”

Indeed they are, yet Jaemin still feels nauseous, both his head and stomach churn with a dread that claws at him from the pits, lodging itself right in his throat, denying him his right to breathe. It’s merciless and unforgiving.

Before him, Jaemin sees the way Jeno stands alone, head bowed as he waits for the priest to finish his words. The girl he’s getting married to is too young, too naive. Nervous. Jaemin sees it in the way her eyes flit over to her family, a pleading look on her face that goes ignored.

The revelation is quick and simple: neither of them wanted this in the first place. 

Jaemin’s knuckles are squeezed white with anger, disturbed and trembling as he watches the pathetic play unfold. Because at the end of the day, or the year, and for the rest of their lives, the life of a noble will always be just that - a puppet show, put up just to please those above them.

Society be damned.

When the priest leads the vows, Jaemin can only see Jeno in front of him, eyes downcast and away from the girl. He fiddles with his suit, a new piece Jaemin is certain doesn’t belong to him. It’s too broad at the shoulders, fitting him just as an oversized glove would. Unsightly and not at all useful. It’s not a good look for him, or any of them.

Jaemin needs to go. He can’t bear to watch this any longer.

To his side, Jaemin’s parents are hardly invested, watching the scene before them with mild disinterest. Quietly, he excuses himself, but not before catching the attention of the groom, whose eyes are now trailing after him with quiet sadness. 

It’s suffocating.

It  _ hurts. _

The way Jeno watches him in silent despondency even as he takes his vows, promising eternal love to a bride he has no care for. 

A sickening twist in his heart prods him towards a darker side, and soon Jaemin is left alone with his horrid thoughts as he leans against the exterior of the cold church, where the air isn’t as fresh as he imagined and the grass lies wet and muddy beneath his shoes.

_ What if Jeno does fall in love? _

_ Will he remember Jaemin the way Jaemin remembers him? Will he think about Jaemin in the nights when he’s too lonely, holding himself the way Jaemin would? _

Or will he fulfill his vows to his new wife, forgetting every moment they’ve spent together up till this point?

The cigar between his fingers burns ashes onto the ground, mixing in with the soil of the holy church grounds. 

Jeno never liked the smell.

When Jaemin re-enters the church, he sits himself with his parents and the two  _ lovely _ gossiping ladies. The stench of smoke clings onto him like death, heavy and unwilling to let go, and the two women turn their noses away in disgust, eyeing him like some vile scum he surely is. By his side, Jaemin’s parents titter disapprovingly, but who are they to criticise Jaemin’s bad habits? He’s seen them drink more liquor in a sitting than one ever should.

From the front, Jeno stiffens, and Jaemin knows his presence has been acknowledged. Because even now, Jeno has to fight a frown at the thick smell of smoke. 

With the conclusion of their vows, the pair are escorted back to the bride’s home. And as most weddings go, it is uneventful and mundane at best. Only this time, Jaemin has to keep himself busy with the cigars and wine in order to keep his sanity intact. 

He doesn’t even like wine.

Jeno tries to reach Jaemin, but the pushy guests and reproachful looks the bride’s family give him stops him in his tracks. And like a dejected puppy, Jeno bows his head and turns back to where he’s supposed to be, by his  _ wife. _

This wedding is all but a sham. 

The bride knows it. She looks over to her family for support, unable to even approach Jeno.

The guests know it. They chatter and gossip among each other, all the while glancing at the space between the newlyweds.

The devil knows it too. He plants a seed in Jaemin’s heart, digging a hole straight through.

Jaemin is bitter. Bitter that he couldn’t be there for Jeno when he needed him the most. Bitter for watching it all crumble without doing more.

By the end of the day, Jaemin returns home with a sick stomach and the whispers of the devil taunting him in his ears.

_ It could have been you. _

  
  
  


Perhaps Jaemin should have gotten used to this lifestyle by now. Watching Jeno and his newly wedded wife prance around town as they mingle with high society. 

Though, much to Jaemin’s twisted relief, that’s not what really happens. 

Neither of the two are social enough and whenever Jaemin catches a glimpse of them outside, a permanent air of awkwardness clings onto them as they go around town, paired with shifty glances and unmatched footsteps. The wedding guests may gossip voraciously, but it certainly doesn’t hold a candle to the loud, unfiltered mouths of the hungry townspeople. 

_ “I hear the Lees are in big trouble.” _

_ “Damn right. Fortunately for them, they’ve married into wealth again.” _

_ “It’s only a pity that the two are obviously not in love.” _

_ “Indeed, but these are the Lees we are talking about.” _

Wherever they went, gossip followed. It was only a matter of time before they became the hushed talk of the town. Hushed, because no one would dare disrespect noble blood in public.

Tapping away at his cigar, Jaemin slips further into his bad habits, inhaling the smoke as he contemplates. 

At one point, Jeno would have swatted his hands away and insisted on having him quit, but the memory is far too old to be recalled now. 

Thunder rumbles in the distance. There will be rain tonight.

Staring out the window, Jaemin exhales, filling the room with smoke and ashes. 

What will Jeno be doing during this thunderstorm? Will he take care of his  _ wife _ , comforting her through the darkest hour? Or will she learn just how afraid Jeno truly is of the storm?

The smile that stretches across his face is bitter at best, and malicious at worst. 

He hates this. How every waking moment of his life is plagued by thoughts of Jeno. How the core of his heart still sings for him even now.

Jaemin presses a finger to his temple, the beginning throbbing of a migraine incoming. 

This is not like him. Not like him at all.

He slumps into his chair, a posture so bad his mother would have reprimanded him for, but he no longer cares. Just what will this moping about bring?

What good will it do?

Jaemin drops the cigar into his glass of water, watching it float to the top as the ashes scatter. 

_ Scum breeds scum. _

And Jaemin is the lowest of them all for letting it happen.

  
  
  


A loud thud on the front door echoes through the otherwise quiet house.

Against the glass window pane, rain beats down mercilessly as thunder rumbles overhead, the sky dark and the gods angry. How befitting for a gloomy little town. When the front door is knocked on again, this time weaker yet frantic, Jaemin dresses himself hastily and makes his way down. He knows the maid would not have heard it because of her failing hearing. The storm only exacerbates it.

When the door is flung open, Jaemin only has one thought going through his head. If he had expected anyone in particular,  _ this _ is definitely not it.

In front of him, Jeno is drenched to his bones, clothes sopping wet as he breathes shakily. His hands pull his coat close around his body and each beat belies a shudder that cannot be hidden.

What—

“—the devil.” Jaemin curses under his breath. Grabbing Jeno, he pulls him into the warm enclosed space of his house. “Come in, quick.”

Beneath his touch, Jaemin feels the way Jeno trembles wordlessly, wet head leaning against Jaemin’s chest. He mumbles, but Jaemin is far too preoccupied to discern them.

“Fire, fire,” Jaemin mutters more to himself than anything else. Jeno grasps onto Jaemin’s shoulder, leaning in and pressing kisses into the side of his neck as Jaemin struggles over to the heat of the fireplace. 

“Kiss me, Jaemin…”

His breath hitches in his throat, but he doesn’t let Jeno’s words faze him. “Wait here.”

Just as Jaemin stands up to fetch a towel, Jeno tugs him back down, arms pulling his head down to meet him in a kiss. When Jeno pulls away, his face is red and his eyes are glazed over, wet from the rain and bloodshot with… tears. 

“Fuck.”

Now, more than ever, Jaemin needs to work with speed. 

He scours his house for a single piece, ransacking his bathroom for just one towel. For the entirety of it, Jeno’s hoarse voice reverberates through the house, chanting a quiet mantra of Jaemin’s name over and over again.

The death grip on his heart gives a little twist and squeeze with each cry for him, threatening to burst the dam Jaemin has built up. 

It’s not fair, Jaemin thinks. It’s not fair at all.

When Jaemin returns with a dry towel, he finds Jeno sprawled across the floor asleep, a frown marring his features, lit up only by the fire to his side. The wet clothes cling to his skin, coat and all. Through the open coat, the thin scar Jaemin had left below his navel from an accident long ago is visible, and a warped part of him cherishes it. Because when he makes love to his  _ wife,  _ she will always see this mark left on him, a sign that Jaemin was there before her.

Jaemin gnaws at his lower lip, letting his eyes close shut as he attempts to centre himself. When he opens them again, nothing has changed, and his heart only grows heavier and more selfish. The devil reigns over him, his heart and desires. 

He sits by the fireplace as well, peeling away Jeno’s sopping clothes before drying him off with the towel. When he’s done, Jaemin pulls Jeno into his arms, letting his head rest on his chest as he embraces him for the first time since that fateful night.

He doesn’t think of the reasons Jeno appeared on his doorstep.

He doesn’t question why Jeno chose to look for him when it stormed.

Brushing away Jeno’s damp hair from his face, Jaemin leans down to press a kiss to his supple cheek, right beneath the most beautiful mark of all.

_ He knows. _

  
  
  


_ “They say he’s impotent.” _

Jaemin holds Jeno in his grasp, moving and gliding as Jeno mewls into his arm, trying desperately not to make a sound. 

_ “It certainly would make sense.” _

“Jaemin…”

Every season brings in something new, Jaemin learns. This season, instead of attending the dreadful balls and parties that bear the same stiff air as a church, Jaemin lies on cotton bedding, with his arms circled around the warmth of another body.

_ “The girl has another lover though her family would never admit.” _

Jaemin caresses every inch of Jeno’s body, straying till his fingers brush across his entrance, teasing around the edges in flutters that make Jeno squirm. 

This wouldn’t be their first time. 

While Jaemin prepares himself, Jeno strokes his own that lies against his stomach, heavy with visible desire. The clear liquid that drips and trails down his body, past the raised scar, glistens obscenely under the solemn of the night. Jaemin dips his head to lick a stripe along the delicate scarring, letting his teeth graze it with enough intensity that leaves Jeno crying for more. 

And this wouldn’t be their last.

_ “The Lees are foolish. Marriage alone cannot save their reputation. I almost feel bad for the boy.” _

It does not take long for Jaemin to press inwards, canting his hips at an angle that meets at where he wants, nudging closer to the spot he knows Jeno craves. 

“Won’t you marry me instead? Can’t I change your mind?”

Jeno lifts his arms up to cover his eyes. 

“You know we can’t,” he whispers even as the speed picks up. When Jaemin gently pries his arms away, looking down at him with surely tears of his own as well, Jeno croaks out, “It is not my mind you should change.”

Society be damned. 

By his legs, Jaemin pulls Jeno closer, filling him even more. At the sudden fullness, Jeno gasps and falls apart beneath him, keening as his breaths come in short and fast. For just a moment, Jaemin lets Jeno get used to this feeling, before pulling back out and delving straight in again, all the while dragging along the sensitive insides.

“Then run away with me.”

Jeno’s eyes are glazed and wet, yet they never once stray from Jaemin’s face. His breathing is uneven as Jaemin strokes him in time to his pace, squeezing it just a tad cruelly to elicit a moan that satisfies them both. Perhaps it’s too selfish of him to expect an answer. 

A moment passes, then another few more, stretching out into a silence that Jaemin has grown accustomed to over the months since  _ that  _ day.

Jeno has always been the more rational of them two. He would never agree. 

“Where to?” comes the quiet unexpected.

Jaemin falters in his movement, but resumes just as quickly. Though it’s not a definite ‘yes’, it isn’t a ‘no’. 

It’s hushed, softer even, when Jaemin reveals it. “The place where sunflowers bloom.”

Jeno’s eyes widen, and Jaemin feels so endeared by the quiet surprise that he leans in again, this time to kiss his cheek. Chaste and light, unlike the words that are heavy with meaning.

The place where sunflowers bloom. A place only shared in the stories they’ve read as children, when Jeno was still clinging onto Jaemin’s little finger wherever they went. Back then, two young boys sticking a little too close was not a matter of concern. After all, boys will be boys, and sometimes that entails  _ accidental  _ kisses when they play too closely.

But now, they are far too grown to act that way. No longer will the excuse of being young shield them from judgement of the public eye. When Jeno leans in a little too close when he laughs, behind him stands his family, frowning in disapproval. When Jaemin leads Jeno forward with his hand on the small of Jeno’s back, the whole town titters and gossips, making up lies just to entertain themselves.

Certainly, there is a truth to it all. Jaemin cannot deny, even if Jeno might.

“Come with me.”

And Jeno does, in more ways than one. As Jaemin spills deep inside him, hips stuttering as it spurts out uncontrollably, Jeno, too, follows suit. His desire and wants decorate his lower belly, making a mess of both of them. Jaemin stays inside, comforted by the presence Jeno brings. For the two of them, this clandestine relationship will not last long, and Jaemin wants to treasure every moment of it until then.

Although they are exhausted, Jaemin finds his cheeks being caressed and soon his lips meet Jeno’s in a slow, languid dance. They fit each other perfectly. They are two halves of a whole.

When all that’s left between them is evidence of their love and the puff of air that mingles in the cold of the night air, Jaemin asks once more.

“Will you come with me?”

Jeno looks at him, unblinking. The answer is already in his eyes. They watch him intently, as if to say that he should already know.

The wide-eyed gaze Jeno gives him, Jaemin recalls the same look he got in response, when Jaemin had first kissed him under the guise of a healing medicine. Perhaps Jeno had seen it for what was then, what it was that Jaemin wanted. 

A warmth encapsulates him, and for once, Jaemin is caught by surprise. The fingers that interlock with his are not a figment of his imagination, conjured up by his most feverish of his dreams. They are very much real, very much solid in weight, pressing against his own with a warmth that can only come from a person. Jeno smiles up at him for the first time since the wedding. It’s sad around the edges, the corners threatening to fall. But Jaemin is ready to catch it, to raise it back up again. 

The three words are no longer necessary between the two of them. They can tell from their eyes alone, what it is that they wish to get across. And as Jeno squeezes their interlaced fingers together, Jaemin nods his head in acknowledgement.

Jeno’s answer is short and sweet. Simple and uncomplicated.

Jaemin asks, “Will you come with me?”

To which Jeno replies:

_ Yes. _

  
  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> if you made it here, thank you for reading this ^^  
> feel free to let me know how you feel in the comments below
> 
> my [twt](https://twitter.com/myhopeandangel) if you feel compelled to click on it  
> [kofi](https://ko-fi.com/ariesque) if you wanna support me :)


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